


Monochromatic

by DoubleL27



Series: Where My Love Grows and Other Stories [5]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Family Feels, Fashion & Couture, Gen, Introspection, self-expression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22679800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27
Summary: In the absence of a true color, texture, tone and lines become essential.
Relationships: David Rose & Moira Rose
Series: Where My Love Grows and Other Stories [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624537
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Monochromatic

**Author's Note:**

> For Rosebudd Writes 6: Monochromatic
> 
> Thank you to RQ for the beta, and to my thesaurus for keeping my Moira Rose voice on point. 
> 
> Also, I know I owe a lot of my thinking around David and clothing to [another_Hero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_Hero/pseuds/another_Hero) and their work [And conquer it you will](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297588/chapters/53255377), which is a much, much longer and in depth fiction exploring David and his feelings about beauty, and you should read it. It's amazing.

_ In the absence of a true color, texture, tone and lines become essential. _

One of the best lessons David ever received from his mother was how to put together a look. How to take the absence of color and the convergence of all color, and the muted shades that belong between them and make yourself a work of art, was a staple of their shared brand. 

“Oh _David_ , _anyone_ can wear a garish monstrosity of a hue and begrime everything with a vulgar motif. To be awash in exiguity of color allows for a _luxuriance_ of possibility. Remember dearest, you tell a person _who you are_ before you ever open your mouth to speak.”

While Alexis brushed off their mother’s lessons in favor of riots of color and florals, David delved into mixing smooth leather with thick, woven sweaters, fraying rips and geometric edges, bold patterns in muted shades of gray. 

As long as they were in the same place, his mother would insist on inspecting any of his chosen outfits, making him do a slow turn for her to carefully critique his outfits. The best days were the ones where her lips would curve and he would hear “Well done, you!” or “David, what a masterful melange of gray.” 

Even the bad days weren’t terrible, because his mother would take his hand and lead him back to his closet, flipping on the lights as they entered and sit him down for a lesson in how to improve his outfits. There were times, in high school, David picked exactly the wrong pieces to pair together, just to watch her snap her fingers and order him to follow her, for just an extra fifteen minutes in her presence.

So when Stevie suggested he gut the carefully curated selection of monochrome with very tasteful pops of color, anger flooded him. Inside his wardrobe is every lesson he’s ever learned, every piece of himself he has ever put together for the world to see, to form an opinion about, to know him even before knowing him. If he let go of the carefully curated pieces, what would even be left of David Rose? 


End file.
